


Rationality Is A Slippery Slope

by WeirdAlterEgo



Series: Bruce's Lessons For Inexperienced Young Men [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Butt Plugs, Cock Warming, Coercion, Dark Bruce Wayne, Drugged Sex, Drugs, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, cock in stomach bulge, drug assisted rape/non-con, not recreational drugs though, pls tell me if it needs more tags, unbetaed we die like robins, welp I think that covers it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26783971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdAlterEgo/pseuds/WeirdAlterEgo
Summary: “Training...?” Tim wanted to…something. What was it again? Oh right, he wanted to giggle hysterically. Ask Bruce what the hell he thought he was doing. This was wrong. Something was very wrong. “Did you drug me?”
Relationships: Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne
Series: Bruce's Lessons For Inexperienced Young Men [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952965
Comments: 9
Kudos: 133





	Rationality Is A Slippery Slope

Bruce planned the first lesson after his 16th birthday. After Tim beat his test. Tim fell asleep in his bed, in his pajamas at the Manor one night, woke up naked, woozy and being fingered by Bruce the next morning.

His mind being soft and mushy like cotton candy and marshmallows, it took Tim a good few minutes listening to the _sounds_ , his reedy grunts and the foreign feeling of fingers tugging and pushing on his rim, to begin to grasp what was happening to him. Still he was dumbstruck, almost convinced he was dreaming still. He stared up at Bruce, who sat next to him on Tim's bed in his expensive suit, calm as can be, arm outstretched between Tim’s spread, propped-up legs, as he calmly and patiently scissored his fingers in his ward’s hole. The squelching of the lubricant was loud ( _indecent_ , his muzzy mind supplied, dirty, _wrong_ ), so was the roar of blood in Tim’s ears.

Either that or he was having an episode.

“Wha-“ He tried to ask, he did, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and sounds, moans he couldn't believe were his came from his mouth. He was so lost. Something like this has never happened before, he had seen nothing of its like in the Batcomputer's files. Was Bruce taken over by Poison Ivy’s spores? Something else? His muddled mind started pulling up possibilities while his fingers curled up, clenching into the bedsheets, holding on with a death grip.

“I know now, that your mind is sharp, Tim.” Bruce started calmly, eyes holding Tim's panicked ones like this was the most natural thing in the universe, while his fingers continued the pumping and stretching of Tim’s anus. “But your body still needs training. You are not yet the master of your own body.”

“Training...?” Tim wanted to… _something_. What was it again? Oh right, he wanted to giggle hysterically. Ask Bruce what the hell he thought he was doing. This was wrong. Something was very wrong. “Did you drug me?” Tim asked, oddly calm _while he was still getting fingered by his adoptive father._ He wanted to curl up into a ball and die of sheer mortification. _Where was Alfred?_

“Training your body's reactions.” Bruce said with a kind, pitying smile. Tim felt… Tim felt… Like his skin was too tight, like he wanted to run away. “I administered a mild sedative and relaxant, so you won't hurt yourself.”

Tim opened his mouth to say something, to beg… to _anything_ , but Bruce slid in another finger, bumped against something in there. _Prostate_ , his groggy mind helpfully supplied. Bruce was massaging his prostate. The only thing that came out of his mouth next was a gurgle. Tim wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. He wanted to beg Bruce to stop it and just _go away_. Tim would never speak of this again if that's what it took.

Bruce didn’t stop though. He kept on methodically stretching Tim, occasionally bumping his prostate. Mostly whenever Tim finally gathered enough strength to try talking again. “You are doing so well.” Bruce praised, laying his other hand soothingly on his thigh, spreading it further apart. The large hand felt like a searing brand on his clammy skin.

Tim felt a little pinch on that thigh. He yelped, instinctively trying to pull away, but Bruce just pressed him calmly back down into the bed, _while his fingers were still up inside him_. Soon Tim's legs, even his arms felt like jelly. His fingers, previously curled into his bedding, fell limp. Bruce withdrew his hand from his thigh to dispose of the syringe into a bag Tim hadn't noticed before. Tim tried, but couldn’t place the leftover liquid he saw inside. He wondered what Bruce cooked up. The contents of the little black bag clinked together as Bruce zipped it back up. Tim gulped.

“You trained well in Paris, and you bested Lady Shiva.” Bruce's voice was syrupy sweet, so gentle as he droned on. “But that was martial arts and pain, Tim. This is not. I know you can withstand pain, I've seen it. This lesson will be about how you withstand pleasure. How you take it," a fourth finger slid inside Tim, stretching him to the brink "and ignore it.”

Tim's panic subsided, a little, as things finally clicked. He began to drool. Reason appealed to his muddled mind. Logic soothed it. Yes, he saw now, this was an important lesson. Bruce was helping him learn. This was something Tim needed to learn to survive. He could do this, lay still while Bruce taught him to just take it.

But Bruce went on. So did his fingers. In-stretch-out, in-stretch-out. Squelch, squelch, squelch.

“I know you are untried, Tim, and it could be your downfall one day." He was gentle, always so very gentle. But now his voice oozed with pity. "If you wish to break free of Ivy’s spores, pheromones and certain kinds of mind control, you _need_ to learn how to take pleasure and _rise above it_. You need to learn, because if you don't, who knows what will happen?”

Tim shivered. Bruce was right, his mind whispered. This was something he still needed to learn from Bruce, who knew better. Tim was woefully inexperienced in this area. He needed guidance. And Bruce was offering it. Bruce was _already_ teaching him. Why stop now?

He nodded.

Bruce gave him a broad smile.

“That’s my partner.” He said proudly and pulled out his fingers. Tim barely felt it. “We will start carefully.” He said as he stood up, wiped his hand clean, and grabbed for something from the chair next to the bed. It was black and clinked.

Tim was so engrossed in _the thing_ , he didn’t anticipate Bruce flipping him over with a quick push. He expected panic to rise up again and engulf him when the bed dipped behind him, but all he felt was... Loose. Lax. Spaced out. Cotton-candy brain.

He felt as his hips were lifted, legs spread as wide as they would. Idly, he wondered if Dick would be proud how flexible he became. He stared at the huge ornate window he could see from his position, head and upper torso flat against the mattress, bare bottom up in the air. He felt Bruce's huge hand as it rested on his... And then he parted... A full-body shiver wracked him as Tim felt his well-prepared hole pulled open by Bruce's fingers, his terrified mind warbling _oh god, oh god Bruce can see it_ before the sound of a zipper invoked the blue screen of death.

_Surely Bruce wouldn't?_

An agonizing, terrifying moment later that lasted an eternity, Tim felt something big nudging at his well-prepared hole, even through whatever numbing drugs he was dosed with. He tried telling himself that _that_ couldn't be _it_ , but he knew better. And he said yes. _He already said yes_. He knew that he couldn't stop it now. He felt Bruce’s fingers pulling his hole open, stretching it tight over the head as it bumped up and up and up, seeking entrance. It didn’t hurt, thanks to whatever Bruce dosed him with, but Tim secretly hoped maybe they would postpone this all if Bruce couldn't manage to push it in.

His hopes were dashed as Bruce leaned down, one muscular arm encircling his middle, while the other held Bruce's big, big, too big length against Tim's hole and bore down. Tim’s whole body jerked as the huge head popped inside. It didn’t… hurt. Not with Bruce's drugs, but there was a pressure, a tightness. An overwhelming fullness. And he felt it sliding up up and up inside him as Bruce kept rolling his hips, body slowly pressing down over him. In seconds Tim felt Bruce’s suit pants and the scratchy zipper rubbing against his bottom.

Bruce was fully lodged up inside him.

From the back he felt Bruce pulling something between the crease of his legs, grazing Tim's burgeoning erection. Then his thighs were being fitted with something, one after the other, straps went around his hips. He felt Bruce’s huge, warm hands on his skin as straps were tightened.

When Bruce leaned back, Tim's lax body was pulled with him. As his head lolled down to look, Tim could see he was in some sort of harness. And then he was up, legs dangling limply before Bruce tightened the thigh straps, so they were not just attached to each other, but to Bruce’s suit-clad front as well. He was wholly suspended from Bruce.

"This is for your safety." Bruce said he moved from side to side, "so you don't hurt yourself." He turned, _swung_ towards the dresser and then to the window, _where anybody looking in could see Tim, naked, harnessed to Bruce_ , his numb mind supplied, as the older man fiddled with the straps. All through these ministrations Tim could feel Bruce's hard length nestled up inside him, rubbing Tim's walls with every movement. 

Clearly satisfied with the straps, Bruce grabbed Tim's hips and stomach, pulling him flush against Bruce, shifting until Tim's weight was perfectly centered on Tim's hole bearing down on Bruce's dick. "There," he said, voice indulgent. "Isn't that better?" With that, the older man moved.

Bruce walked to the door. Tim felt funny. So very full. Tight. _Weird._ He was numbed down there, but he still could feel himself getting fucked as he rode Bruce's length, strapped to and suspended from the older man. But it was not... It wasn't such a big... Well, they have come this far, so why stop now, _right_?

“There is only the two of us in the Manor.” Bruce suddenly spoke. "And I still have work to do. Therefore we shall continue this in my study.” He told Tim, whose head was still swimming from the sensations.

Tim choked. Blind panic rose as Bruce took the first step, and took Tim with him.

Tim wanted to beg him to stop, to plead with him to reconsider, _surely_ this was too much for his first time, even drugged as he was, but Bruce opened the door and stepped out without asking him. And Tim died a little inside. This... this didn't compute, even for a lesson such as this. Because Bruce just stepped out into the corridor with his naked ward strapped to him, riding his cock. Didn't Bruce think this was too much? Too... indecent? What if the others saw? Was this normal? Did Dick get these same lessons once, when he was younger? _What would Alfred say?_ They could have done this so many other ways. Tim felt tears running down his face, mingling with the drool. He hiccoughed, gasping for breath as Bruce effortlessly walked towards his study, carrying Tim's full weight strapped onto him, fucking up into Tim's body with every step. His hands were like hot brands on Tim’s middle as he held him still and against his body.

__

__

__

__

By the time they reached the top of the staircase, Tim had come all over himself untouched, and was rising again.

When Bruce bounced him down the stairs, the thrusts got so hard Tim’s teeth rattled and his head rolled. His mind supplied that there must be some sort of give to the harness, some elasticity to add more momentum to each plunge, before he came so fast, so hard he blacked out.

***

He came to in Bruce’s study, sitting on his mentor’s lap, back propped up on Bruce’s front. The suit scratched against his sensitive back, which must have been rubbed raw during their walk through the manor. Bruce was a wall of scorching heat against Tim's chilled body. His skin was dry (which meant he got cleaned up while he was out), legs spread on either side of Bruce’s already spread legs, muscles probably screaming in pain. He was glad for the drugs that numbed it all.

He breathed in the familiar scents. The leather of Bruce’s big armchair, the faint wooden smell of the shelves, the musty books, the lingering scent of Whiskey.

But with each big breath, he felt a slight throbbing, his body protesting the intrusion of Bruce still up and hard inside him. Tim looked down (he was too overwhelmed to remember to look before) and saw a slight protruding outline. That was Bruce’s dick. He could see the outline of Bruce’s dick through his stomach. 

Bruce’s dick, which had been up inside him for… god knows how long. He felt hysteria rise up from a previously numb part of his brain. Bruce, his mentor, an undoubtedly big man, with a proportionate member, was inside Tim, the tiniest of the Robins. It was inside him, bulge reaching past his belly button, wide as…

He reached up to touch it, fingers tracing the bulge’s tip a bit below his last rib before his hand was grabbed and placed on the desk.

“Stay still.” Bruce chided from behind him, grabbing and placing his other hand on top of the mahogany desk’s surface. “This is your lesson, not mine. Don’t try to distract me.”

Tim felt the length inside him shift with every movement. He whimpered as it rubbed against his prostate before Bruce righted himself and the overwhelming pleasure slowly ebbed away.

Until Bruce’s phone rang and Tim jumped, only to sink back down, the harness keeping him trapped on Bruce. A strong arm encircled his middle while Bruce calmly answered his phone. Like he didn't have a bound, naked boy in his lap, sitting on his cock.

“Hello, Lucius, I’ve been waiting for your call.”

Tim froze. His erection flagged almost instantly as reality descended on him. Cold sweat prickled the back of his neck as his teeth clenched down, hard. He stayed perfectly still as Bruce hummed, questioned and agreed with whatever Lucius was saying, as Tim concentrated instead on regulating his breathing, on relaxing his muscles. On not hyperventilating.

“A moment, if you will, Lucius,” Bruce said and pushed forward to murmur in Tim’s ear, jostling him on his rigid member. “You are doing wonderfully.” He praised the boy, voice smooth as silk, broad hand splayed around Tim’s middle, right over the bulge he made in his stomach. “We will start with the second part of today's lesson. Stay relaxed, stay still, and try not to make too much noise.”

Bruce rubbed that bulge, tapping it twice, murmuring “I’d hate to be forced to make excuses to Lucius,” before he leaned back in his chair, asking jovially “Now where were we again?” as his hips snapped up, bouncing Tim on his cock, his length sliding out as far as the harness would let him, before Tim got yanked back down, bottoming out again.

Tim felt the strain in his spread legs as Bruce fucked up into his lax body. With unerring accuracy his cock nudged against Tim’s prostate at almost every thrust, bringing his flaccid erection back to half-mast and then weeping in minutes. Tim writhed. Even the threat of Lucius hearing Tim getting fucked by his adoptive... by Bruce wasn’t enough to stave off another orgasm. He stuffed his fingers into his mouth to muffle the wail that threatened to push past his lips, watched dispassionately as his come sprayed all over Bruce’s beloved mahogany desk.

He kept his hand up, muffling his whimpers and whines as Bruce calmly fucked him through his orgasm, hips pistoning up like a _machine_ , and after. He didn’t slow, but hastened his thrusts against Tim’s oversensitive spot, until he finally stilled, filling Tim up with his seed.

Tim might have blacked out a little after that, he wasn't sure, maybe he went away a bit like he did sometimes. He came to Bruce praising him again for being so calm and still, when the sun was high up in the sky. He didn't know how much time has passed, but he could feel his arms, his legs properly... and he also could feel _Bruce._

Tim shuddered.

He felt Bruce's arms coming up to rub at his arms, his sides, suddenly felt how chilled he was.

"All right." Bruce conceded. "This should cover our first lesson. You did beautifully, Tim."

The praise, delivered so warmly, didn't please him like it usually did. Tim did not feel wonderful. He felt tired and sore, and he felt it... He didn't really know how he felt. It just felt...  He didn't like it.

"It's all right to feel things." Bruce told him gently as he set him down on his own feet, _while still in Tim_ , as if he read Tim's mind. "This is a difficult lesson for terrible situations. We are doing this so you will be ready. So you will know what you need to do, how to handle it."

Tim nodded. Bruce was right. Poison Ivy. Pheromones. Mind control. There was a perfectly legitimate reason for this.

"Good. Now, please, try to hold it in. I have just the thing so you can clean up in the shower." Bruce said as he rummaged in his desk. Tim could see baby wipes and something dark and shiny.

Before Tim fully grasped what was about to happen, Bruce pulled out. He clenched up too late and felt... dripping. He could hear Bruce tsking above him before something cold was pushed in and up inside his sore passage. It was hard and had no give. Tim shivered in revulsion. He couldn't help it.

He stood still as Bruce wiped him down, taking extra care to wipe between his cheeks, his balls and his spent (and still very sensitive) penis. Bruce then removed the harness and covered Tim's shivering body with a fuzzy bathrobe.

He leaned down to rest a hand on Tim's minutely shaking shoulder and murmured in his ear. "You did good, Tim. I'm very proud of you. Now go back to your room, take a hot shower and rest up. You don't have to join me on tonight's patrol."

Tim nodded mutely, wondering if he was allowed to leave yet.

Bruce cleared his throat. "Would you like if I walked you back to your room, chum?"

"No!" Tim yelped, possibly a little panicked as he practically jumped out of Bruce's reach and walked, sprinted, barefoot, out of Bruce's study.

The thing inside him was an uncomfortable, detestable presence as it nudged his sore prostate with each step, but he couldn't care less about that as long as there was no... spillage. He walked swiftly back towards his room, determination dragging his tired body to a place he could regroup.


End file.
